Too Quiet
by TalisDragon13
Summary: Superwholock! The duos meet for the first time and discover a prophecy: three of them will die before the night ends. Lucifer has possessed Moriarty and The Doctor will need more help if they're to make it through the night. River, Ten, Rose Castiel and Crowley all make appearances. (Nods to Douglas Adams)
1. The Meeting of the Minds

**December 24****th**** 2013, Manchester, 9pm**

The Doctor stepped out of his TARDIS and frowned. The air smelt funny. And not clown funny either; it was dank and musty and had a hint of rotten eggs. He straightened his bowtie and flicked his suspenders, stepping forward into the alleyway, Clara on his heels. She sniffed.

"Right, even I can smell that one. Was that you?"

"OH. Clara! No, it was like that when we got here."

"Whatever."

"Oh, shut up you. Odd though, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Kinda smells like… sulphur?"

The Doctor didn't reply, simply pulling out his sonic screwdriver and scanning the general area around them. It buzzed and began flashing ominously, sparking a worried face from Clara.

"Is it supposed to do that? I've never seen it do that before. Is it broken?"

"Of course it's not broken. But… that's impossible!" He smacked the device but the readings stayed the same, "Clara, the sonic is telling me that something impossible is happening. Which means that something very, very dangerous is about to occur."

"Right, so you're saying we have to leave?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying yes. We should leave. Absolutely."

They locked eyes. The Doctor grinned and immediately began walking away from the TARDIS and into the darkness, Clara falling into step beside him.

**December 19****th**** 2013, somewhere in the heart of America, lunchtime**

Dean stretched. They'd been on the road for days, searching for a mystery, for something interesting. Sam had been staring at his phone for an hour.

"Sam, Garth will call if there's anything, but I'm pretty sure you can't will a problem into existence. Honestly, we should be glad when there's nothing to fight: less danger for the innocent bystanders." He didn't have any conviction in his voice though; he was just as bored and stressed as Sam.

Dean glanced in front of them. A small town with probably fifty people living in it was laid out in front of them in complete silence. He rolled his eyes and Sam looked over too.

"Burgers?" He pointed at a small joint at the end of the main road, checking his watch as he did so.

They locked the car and walked into the tiny bar. There were no waitresses to be seen, just one lonely bar tender, a cute smile on her face, her blonde hair falling into her eyes. When she saw them walk in, her eyes drifted over the two of them and noting Dean as the most enthusiastic to see her; beckoned him over. Sam sat down at a booth in the corner facing the window and checked out the menu.

"Uh, two beers and a Cheesy Biters Burger…" He glanced back at Sam, who raised his arm, "oh, sorry, two Cheesy Biters Burgers, please."

The girl nodded and wrote the orders down, fluttering her eyelashes as she disappeared out the back, probably to cook their meals.

"Man, check that out!" Dean nudged his brother, who nodded absent-mindedly and continued staring out the window.

"It's too quiet," Sam said, "not that it's always a bad thing, but, I dunno, something's weird about the silence, like something's going to happen."

Dean nodded, but he wasn't really listening, too busy staring at the girl who'd returned with their food and drink. He thanked her and she blew him a kiss as she went back to the kitchen.

Sam rubbed his eyes, tired from the long, intensely boring days. Dean tucked into his burger, when suddenly there was a whooshing sound, wheezing and stretching, and something blue began to fade into existence just outside the bar.

Both of them stood, knocking things off the table, running out the doors towards the materializing box.

"What the hell is that!?"

**December 19****th**** 2013, two hours later, 221B Baker St**

Sherlock Holmes was bored. Not entirely unusual for him, but nothing had been happening. No interesting murders, no fascinating thefts, not even a brilliant plot twist on a soap opera. John was away with Mary and their daughter and wouldn't get back for another twenty minutes, so for the minutely foreseeable future, life would remain boring. Sherlock sighed.

"God, couldn't some criminals be even remotely interesting?" He stood and began pacing around the room.

Seventeen minutes later, John stepped through the doors and it was like he'd walked into a warzone. Books lay everywhere and pages were floating around the room. There were still those old photos and new clippings of that fascinating blue box there, but that was old news; probably some hoax, maybe even Derren Brown. He was surprised that Sherlock hadn't abandoned it yet. What he wasn't surprised about was the mess that the apartment was in, though he wasn't thoroughly impressed with it.

"Sherlock? I know you're bored, but really, you should be over trashing the place by now!"

He shuffled through to the kitchen and sat down on the closest chair that wasn't covered in what appeared to be chicken.

"Bloody experiments." He muttered.

Sherlock appeared from the other room and rubbed his forehead, looking decidedly happier than before, "how was your weekend away?" John opened his mouth to say something and Sherlock raised a hand, "don't, I know exactly how it was, and I know that I will find any stories you have to tell me very mediocre."

A wheezing noise began behind them but neither of them turned to look, John too busy being silently annoyed at his friend. Sherlock sighed in frustration.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, is there anything in the world even remotely interesting?"

"I could think of a thing or two." The Doctor stuck his head out of the TARDIS and John fell off his seat.

**December 19****th****, a small town in America; in front of a bar, just after lunch**

"It's a TARDIS." The tall man was wearing a bowtie and a tweed jacket, and unbelievably he was pulling it off, like no man should be able to.

"What?" Dean muttered; his eyes glued to the recently materialized blue box.

"This thing," The Doctor stroked it lovingly, "it's called a TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It's a spaceship."

Sam scoffed. "It's a Phone Box. A bit small to be a spaceship, don't you think?" He risked a sideways glance at Dean, who was regaining his composure and closing his mouth.

"Nah, it's bigger than it looks." Clara grinned, stepping out of the TARDIS.

"Oh, honestly, could you be any more dramatic? Would you like some backing music?" The Doctor rolled his eyes and nudged her. She straightened up and the smile dropped from her face.

"That's weird, Doctor, these two guys, they remind me of some books that I used to read. About two brothers and they had a car… an old one, a classic... what was it again?" She looked down the road and saw the Impala standing out like a large black car against a pale backdrop. Which was exactly was it was.

"Oh my god, it was that car! Are you guys Winchester impersonators?"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks and rolled their eyes.

"No lady, we're the real deal." He didn't expect the girl to believe them, which she didn't.

"You're joking right; two brothers fighting demons and monsters, driving round America in a classic Impala just waiting for something exciting to happen? It's a bit, unrealistic, don't you think?"

The Doctor looked crestfallen, "What do we do all day every day?" A rhetorical question, but one which drew interested looks from the Winchesters.

"That's a good point, who the hell are you?" Dean raised his voice, expecting them to shrink back and maybe jump into the ridiculous box. On the contrary, the Doctor stepped forward, extending his hand in greeting.

"I'm the Doctor, I'm a Timelord from the planet Gallifrey, I have two hearts, a sonic screwdriver and a cool bow tie, and we need your help. This is my companion Clara; gorgeous, clever, slightly annoying sometimes and she is my _impossible _girl. You must be the Winchesters. I've been looking all over for you."

Clara laughed and then, when she saw that the Doctor was not, in fact, joking, she pulled him aside.

"Doctor, you're joking right? The Winchesters aren't real. They're just characters in an overdramatic book series."

"Hey, who're you calling overdramatic? That stuff all happened, so you can get your pretty little panties out of that twist they're clearly in. Besides, what's more dramatic than a randomly appearing blue box?" Dean argued and Sam put a hand on his chest to stop him stepping forward.

"Good point." Clara conceded, "But… If you're real, that means all that stuff you did in those books was real which means that you've stopped the apocalypse, more than once. That's brilliant!"

"Thanks," Sam smiled, and Dean puffed out his chest in pride.

"Of course, you'll never have saved it as many times as us, and especially not the Doctor, but you've done pretty well so far. Don't be put out or anything, but saving the world is kind of our day job." Clara added, and Dean deflated. Sam stuttered and frowned, but the Doctor was more interested in his own agenda.

"So, Winchesters. I have a job for you, if you want one."

"What does this _job _involve?" Sam asked sceptically. The Doctor just smiled a mysterious smile and Dean caught sight of how old his eyes were. Those old eyes looked at the brothers and they sparkled with adventure.

"Lots of running."

**December 19****th**** 2013, three hours later, 221B Baker St**

Sherlock strode forward.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Trade secret. I could tell you, if you want, but that would defeat the purpose of the mystery, wouldn't it? Now, would you like something interesting to do or not?" The Doctor watched as Sherlock's face began to light up.

"Parlour tricks." Sherlock muttered scornfully, but the Doctor just shook his head. It was then that the Doctor noticed the photos and news-clippings of his TARDIS on the wall beside him. Watson stood and protested loudly, but Sherlock was already on a roll. He walked around the exterior of the TARDIS, talking to himself as he went.

"Can't have arrived via window or door, no way up without being noticed… must have… no, that's impossible… the technology is far too advanced… brilliant… absolutely not… oh of course."

"Well, Mr Holmes, have you come to any conclusions?" The Doctor asked, and Sherlock tilted his head.

"This is a spaceship, possibly one that travels in time, and you are not of this world."

"My goodness, you are as good as all the hearsay. And how do you figure this?"

"Well, there was no other way that you could have gotten in here other than materialization, because there's no clear pathway from the door, and we would have seen you come in. Though the ship is very small, probably just a one person vehicle, maybe a two person vehicle, it can travel very quickly and appear from nowhere, like a form of teleportation, so it's almost definitely from the future, yet the appearance it takes is from the 1950s or 60s, a London Police Box. A bit retro, don't you think? But proving my point that you a probably a time traveller, or just have really bad taste."

"Hey!" The Doctor protested.

"And as for you being alien, well that's obvious." He said with a flourish.

"It's not obvious to me, care to explain?" Watson growled.

"He's wearing a tweed jacket and a bow tie, what more do you want?" Sherlock replied bitingly, "Alright, apart from the ridiculous attire, which he manages to wear quite well, he's standing outside a piece of technology that is greatly advanced, which of course makes him advanced, but not many humans would want to give their ship the appearance of something so… old fashioned. Let alone that fact that he simply exudes power, which people just don't. But the real trick was the eyes."

"What about his eyes." John asked, stepping up to study them.

"Look at them John. Such old, ancient eyes, hidden in such a young face. No human's eyes are that old. Why you look human, though, is something I can't discern."

"Oi. You look Timelord, we were here first." The Doctor remarked, not for the first time in his life.

"Interesting. Timelords. Fascinating name. I'm guessing my time travel theory was correct, which means that you're here for a reason. What do you want?"

"Well, I'm partially here because I wanted to meet you Mr Holmes. You're something of a legend, but the main reason I arrived is because I have a mystery. A very fascinating mystery with a lot of things to solve. You in?"

Watson and Sherlock stepped forward, Watson albeit a little reluctantly.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss this for the world."

**The interior of the TARDIS, time and space in a state of temporal flux**

Dean sighed. "More people? Really, more?"

"Ah, yes, but these are special people. Ladies and Gentleman; Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson."

The TARDIS erupted in sound, everyone protesting or laughing or glaring at each other. Clara choked on the cup of tea she held in her hand and Dean groaned in apprehension, taking the cup from the girl.

Sam blinked a few times and once he'd regained his composure he stretched out a hand to the two new arrivals.

"So you're Sherlock Holmes. Wow. I read all the books; big fan." He grinned, a little shocked. Sherlock and Watson were introduced to everyone before they all gathered around the central console. Watson seemed a bit sick and Clara went and stood next to him, like she had done with Dean when he'd first stepped on.

"Weird isn't it? Don't worry, most people get like this when they first get on. Although Sherlock seems to have taken it in his stride quite well."

Indeed Sherlock was wandering around the room, staring at nozzles and switches and glancing furtively, trying to take everything in with one gaze.

"Alright, enough of the showing off," Dean turned to the Doctor, "Why are we here? You promised a job, but right now all we're doing is picking up supposedly mythical characters from books written 150 years ago."

"You're one to talk, handsome fictional demon fighter." Clara responded.

"Handsome?" Dean asked, a smile creeping to the corners of his mouth.

"Oh… shut up." She glared, but she wasn't serious and they both knew it. He found himself greatly warming to the pretty brunette, and she looked away hurriedly so as not to catch his eye for too long.

The Doctor stood in front of his tiny army and held out his hands.

"Dean and Sam Winchester, the most famous hunters in the universe, and Sherlock Holmes and John Watson of course need no introduction. You've asked why you're here? Something impossible. Something impossible and fascinating and very, very bad has happened, and I need your help. You guys are my dream team! Isn't that exciting?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and Sam sat back in anticipation of what was to happen next. The Doctor twiddled some switches and room became dark, a screen flaring to life in the centre.

_A demon stood at a crossroads at midnight, the only light cast by the moon. It was waiting for someone; this deal had been pre-arranged. Three minutes later, some walked up the north facing road. They were facing away from the camera, which was situated across from a closed convenience store. Words were exchanged, though there was no audio on the recording, and then the visitor turned and grabbed the demon, thrusting a knife into its belly and watched it writhe on the ground before walking off._

"So?" Sam said. "Probably just another hunter trying to get rid of a demon."

"Nope. See here's the thing. That recording was taken two nights ago, but according to the TARDIS, that particular exchange took place over 150 years ago. So how did that camera capture it? Because we've already been there and checked it out, and the readings are odd, but that's not even the impossible bit. Are you ready?"

The screen flickered to life again.

_Sam, Dean, Sherlock, John, The Doctor, Clara, River and Castiel all stood on that same crossroads, Sam, Dean and Castiel grabbing stuff from the trunk of the Impala, Sherlock and John checking their guns and The Doctor whipping his sonic screwdriver around, scanning everything, waiting for something to spark. A demon appeared at the beginning of each road, three men and a woman. Behind them were the Silence, some Cybermen, and what seemed to be the head honcho, and man in a neat black suit, walking slowly behind the rest, a crazy grin on his face. _

"Moriarty." Sherlock hissed; anger pasted across his face. Watson jumped forward and the Doctor put a hand on his arm.

"I know what he did to you. I know how much you despise him. But that's not Jim Moriarty. That's a demon possessing his body. And I'm sorry, but it's going to get a whole lot worse." The Doctor cringed.

"Worse? How could that possibly be worse?" Dean yelled. There was a rustling sound behind them and Castiel stepped into the room.

"A prophecy."

"Urgh, have I mentioned how much I hate those?" Dean spoke through his teeth, and Sam nodded.

"_Eight noble men and women,_

_Fighting evil's cause,_

_Eight start the fight; only five remain,_

_When the evening has reached its pause._

_One will die, one will fall,_

_One will escape this life,_

_The five remaining hold their breaths,_

_Until they've escaped all evil strife." _Cas rolled his eyes, "I don't understand why prophecies have to rhyme. So mediocre. An angel crafted this prophecy, so it should have had more class at least, but she chose to keep it tacky."

"Haven't I always said angels are dicks?" Dean caught Castiel's eye. "Except you Cas. Although, sometimes…" He drifted off and Castiel glared, inducing a giggle from Clara. Dean winked and put one hand in the pocket of his jeans, both him and Sam having ditched the FBI suits. He was never surprised at how easily he drifted between the two, although he loved his casual demon fighting clothes much better.

His eyes flicked around the room, finally settling on Clara, and most prominently, her short black skirt, which showed off her long tanned legs. Dean coughed and averted his eyes, choosing to stare at one of the levers on the centre console instead of the gorgeous woman.

If Clara saw him looking, she didn't show it, just continued to stare straight ahead. Sherlock and the Doctor, however, glanced at each other knowingly and continued to discuss the prophecy.

"Falling. Haven't we had enough of falling." It wasn't a question. Sherlock scowled at the ground. "I need Molly, or Mary, or someone. Everyone in here is just… boring!" He began to pace and fidget, unable to keep still.


	2. TARDIS Blues

_**Hello! This chapter is just a bit of set-up with the characters getting to know each other – no crazy action yet, just a little. Next chapter there will be action I promise. Please let me know what kind of character interactions you want! **_

**.**

**The Interior of the TARDIS, Time and Space in a State of Temporal Flux**

The Doctor shrugged against his suspenders, yanking his bow tie forward only to place it neatly back around his throat. Castiel wandered around the control room and searched for the magic within the machinery. Unsurprisingly, there was a box simply brimming with the stuff hidden behind the wall, but as for the console itself – completely empty of magic. He glanced at Sam and Dean; always keen to watch them work, see their reactions; so very human.

Sam was keeping an eye on the only exit he could see, just in case this Doctor was not who he said he was. His eyes were dark and his smile forced although it was impossible to remove the curiosity, the doubt was taking over now the excitement had worn off. Dean, although keeping up the appearance of relaxation and ease, had his hand resting on the gun sitting snugly in its holster. He flicked up the collar of his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to relax.

Cas tilted his head and looked to the rest of the _dream team._

Clara had grabbed her tea back from Dean and was sipping it, looking at everyone else over the rim of the cup. She seemed to have her guard down, leaning against the console, grinning from ear to ear. Sherlock was staring at the Doctor as though trying to figure him out. Watson had his eyes locked on Sherlock, trying to decide if they were just going to accept the situation or if Sherlock would suddenly announce the Doctor as a fraud – decide that this was a ruse.

He was disappointed. Far from rejecting the reality, Sherlock seemed to be welcoming it with open arms, listening intently to everything the Doctor said.

The Doctor himself was absent-mindedly stroking the TARDIS and talking about time-shifts and Arthur Conan-Doyle – something about a hole in time projecting Sherlock's life back to Arthur who then wrote of his amazing deductive powers.

While he waved his hands around and contorted his face into elaborate expressions as he enunciated huge words and complicated phrases no-one understood, there was no way to read his emotion, but still Castiel stared.

And then, there it was.

When the Doctor was no longer the focus of the conversation, after the rest had begun to question Sherlock and Watson, Castiel watched as the Doctor's smile slipped. Not much, but just enough that his grief became visible – just for a split second – and his tired, old eyes blinked before pasting the smile on again. It was too late – Cas had seen the Doctor as he truly was – a heartbroken man trying desperately to block out his past while looking to the future. A man who would risk anything to save the life of another, while disregarding his own. The Doctor was old; old and sad and Castiel knew how that felt, at least to a certain extent. But where Cas had, after trying to connect with the brothers, only recently learned to care for people, the Doctor had been trying _not_ to his whole life.

The angel dragged his eyes away from the Timelord. His complexity was too distracting – he was an anomaly.

Dean glanced up at him and a grin glanced across his face. Sam looked over and the three of them laughed silently together, all baffled by the remarkable circumstances they found themselves in.

"Now, are we ready?" The Doctor grabbed Clara's hand and she put the cup down on the bench as he yanked her around the centre console. She grabbed one of the levers and pulled it while he flicked some switches on the other side.

The TARDIS began to wheeze and Clara laughed, pressing a large button. All of a sudden the TARDIS ground to a halt and began pinging. The blue glow all around them faded to orange and the Doctor froze.

"No! No, no, no, come on! No! Argh!" He moaned, smacking the console and Clara sighed loudly.

"See! I told you, she hates me." Clara gestured around her, "Even after I stopped being the impossible girl, she still hates me!"

Dean looked around but there was no-one there. Then it clicked, "She?" He smirked.

The Doctor wasn't listening, crouching underneath the button Clara had pressed, bashing something with a metal rod. The machine roared back to life, the blue lights burning again and Clara sighed, the second that night. It would most definitely not be the last.

"There you are Sexy! I knew you could do it." The Doctor stroked the TARDIS lovingly and Sam laughed.

"You are two peas in a pod!" He gestured at Dean who was still smiling and their faces split into grins, "You and your ship, him and his car, god I'm never gonna escape people who love lifeless objects."

The TARDIS screeched and everyone was thrown to the side. Dean's head cracked against the stairs and blood started trickling into his eyes. Clara's mug smashed against the floor and the Castiel disappeared. Sherlock and Watson were smashed together and landed in a heap against the railings. The Doctor had a hold of Clara and was keeping them safe held against the centre console. Sam flew past and his shoulder hit the wall, dislocating with a loud pop.

Everyone sat up gasping as the TARDIS settled.

"What the HELL!?"


	3. Hell Lives in France

**Sorry about the big gap between updates but I was in Indonesia for a while. So this has a bit more action in it, but what do you think about something happening between Dean and Clara? Please review, I have way too many ideas for this story and I need to know which ****direction to steer it in. Thank you, enjoy .**

**The Interior of the TARDIS, Time and Space in a state of Temporal Flux**

"What the HELL!?" Dean wiped the blood from his eyelids, smearing it across his temples and pressed his hand to the wound to stop the bleeding. Clara extracted herself from the Doctor's arm and rushed over to him. She leaned in and Watson stumbled towards them to check him over and he stepped to the side, "I'm fine, don't worry. I've had worse."

Watson shrugged, "I don't care, I'm a doctor and you've been injured." Dean muttered profanities under his breath and shook his head.

"My brother – go help Sam." He grumbled and Watson looked around. Sam was nowhere to be seen. He strode off looking for him as Sherlock dusted off his jacket, seemingly uninjured.

Clara skipped away and returned with a cloth and some water. She handed it to Dean who washed the abrasion carefully and stood up, "I'll say it again for those who didn't hear me; What the HELL just happened?"

The Doctor spun a wheel and tapped some keys and the TARDIS whooshed. "I believe your brother upset my TARDIS."

"WHAT?" Dean stared, confounded.

Clara sighed again and sat down rubbing her arm where the Doctor had pinched it to stop her hitting the wall. The man himself was stalking around the ship, stroking it and murmuring soothing words.

"The TARDIS isn't lifeless, or inanimate. She has a life of her own, kind of. She doesn't appreciate being called lifeless." Clara said and rolled her eyes.

"But…" Dean felt a headache coming on, "Seriously?"

"Yeah. She doesn't like me either, although you probably heard me say that before." She stretched.

"Yeah, yeah I did. Are you alright?" He asked, looking her up and down and she smiled.

"Absolutely fine, the Doctor grabbed me before _She _managed to throw me. He was anticipating it."

Dean raised an eyebrow and nodded. Watson yelled from across the room and everyone turned. Sam was conscious but he was gripping his shoulder and his arm was bent at an odd angle. Clara took a sharp breath and Dean jumped over the railing to the floor below. Watson said something to him and he laughed bitterly and shook his head. Watson stepped back and Dean knelt down next to his brother. Sam gritted his teeth.

The shoulder was returned to its place with a crack.

Sam yelled and Dean helped him up. The two of them jumped back to stand with the others and the Doctor turned around with a big frown on his face. Clara took a hesitant step backwards at his expression and became acutely aware of the tall man behind her.

Dean glanced down at her hair and quickly snapped his eyes back up to the console. "_Eye on the job, idjit!"_ he could almost hear Bobby saying. Sam sniggered at them and crossed his newly fixed arms.

"There has been a bit of a… development." The Doctor said nervously. Clara pushed a lock of hair behind her ears and Dean found himself following the movement of her hand. The Doctor cleared his throat, "The TARDIS… she's… stuck."

Watson scoffed and smacked the railing next to him, "Where?"

"When, I suppose, is the more pertinent question." Sherlock ruffled his dark curls and adjusted his coat at the same time as the Doctor ran his fingers through his hair and pulled his suspenders. They glanced at each other in surprise and Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"When is right, Sherry." The Doctor grinned.

"No. We are not calling me Sherry. That's ridiculous." Sherlock scowled.

"Oh I don't know, I kinda like it." Watson hid a smile behind his hand and everyone relaxed enough for the tension to slip. Somehow the past ten minutes were forgotten and it was the same as when they'd stepped into the TARDIS initially. Then they remembered why they were there.

"We are in France in 1944, and right outside these doors, there is most likely a horrible war going on. So when we leave we need to quickly duck into the building to the left. Everyone okay with that?"

"But what happens if the TARDI-thingy gets hit with a bomb? It's made of wood on the outside."

"No it isn't. It's one of the most powerful ships in the universe and it would take a lot more than one of your ridiculous Earth-made missiles to take it out. Hell, this thing has survived supernovas erupting." The Doctor's voice filled with pride and Clara tapped her feet.

The six of them walked towards the exit and the door creaked open. Watson was the first out, bolting for the small café beside them, diving in a side door. Now that they weren't inside the airtight ship they could hear the bombs going off and they could smell the scent of death and destructions coupled with gunpowder. Dean and Sam strode out next, Dean pulling Clara beside him, covering her while he waved his gun in all directions. Sherlock and the Doctor stepped out last, the Doctor locking the TARDIS behind him. He turned and saw a small girl standing in the entrance to the alleyway, staring at him in astonishment.

"How did you do that?" She was a French girl, "Are you magic?"

"Yes," the Doctor said and knelt down, "We are magic, and we're here to help you, I promise. You don't have to live in fear for much longer. The war is almost over. Soon you will be free to run through the fields again." He smiled at her reassuringly and her face split into a huge grin. She laughed as she skipped out of the alleyway across the road to a house which was undoubtedly her own. The Doctor straightened and Sherlock tilted his head, observing the man. The pair walked into the café with the others.

Dean and Clara were standing by the counter trying to talk to the manager who was being very unreceptive and kept telling them to leave. Sam was kicking back on an armchair and Watson was standing rigidly behind him staring out of the window, his jaw strung taught, hands balled into fists.

Sherlock glanced his way and shook his head.

"So sailor, what's the plan here," Clara leaned closer to Dean as she spoke, but her eyes never left the Doctor as he paced.

"What?"

"You still haven't let go of my hand." She whispered and his head whipped downwards. He quickly extracted himself from her grip and winced.

"Sorry, just… protecting you?" He tried, but the moment the words escaped his lips he knew she wasn't buying it. She nodded along anyway, a glimmer tweaking the corners of her mouth.

The manager had disappeared but all of them were too busy talking to work out where he'd gone. That was, until he returned with a double barreled shotgun.

"YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE," he screamed, "YOU WILL BRING NAZI HELL DOWN ON US. LEAVE!"

They raised their hands in defeat but he swung it around and they all flinched, trying to avoid its metal gaze. The man was visibly shaking, terrified of the world around him, driven mad by years of hiding from a war that was literally right on his doorstep. Bombs had gone off in their street, that much was obvious – miscalculations from the battlefield that was only 50 miles away. Never any silence or stress-relief; living in a state of constant terror just waiting for the end to come.

Watson walked forwards, ignoring the barrel as it spun level with his chest, "It's okay." He said to the man soothingly. The manager shook his head violently and tightened his finger on the trigger. Watson froze and made sure that his palms were facing the man. He leaned forwards and stepped just an inch closer.

"It's okay sir. Everything is going to be fine, I promise. I just need you to put down the gun." As he said the words he took a fast step forwards, sidestepping the gun as it went off and yanking it from the man's arms. The poor gentleman fell to the ground in a dead faint, convinced that he'd just killed someone. In actuality the bullet had missed all six of the newcomers, lodging itself into the wall behind them. They breathed a sigh of relief and Watson disengaged the gun but did not put it down.

His instincts were kicking in now, back in the warzone. He was ready to do whatever it took to keep the other five people safe and he was not about to relieve himself of the only weapon he'd seen since he left London, except the small pistol in his pocket. The Doctor, however, had other ideas.

"No, no, no guns. No guns. I don't do weapons. Nope." He waved his arms about wildly and Sam gestured at the sonic screwdriver in his hand.

"What about that?"

"This? This isn't a weapon, it's a screwdriver. Sorry to disappoint. Actually… who in this room has a weapon?" He asked.

Sam and Dean pulled their guns from their holsters and Watson removed the pistol from his pocket. Sherlock just shrugged and Clara sat down on an armchair next to Sam. The Doctor sighed in resignation and the men hid their firepower.

The beginnings of a plan were forming in the Doctor's head, but it was just an idea. Nothing concrete, not until he knew exactly what he was up against. He knew a lot about the horrors of the universe, but this was the first time he'd dealt with a demon possessing the body of a fictional character that turned out to be real and living in the 21st century. Actually, he wasn't sure of anything anymore. He turned to ask for the Winchesters' information on demons when a small breath of wind hit his back and the gentlemen jumped up and pointed their guns behind him. He turned.

"Hello boys!" Crowley grinned, holding a knife to Castiel's throat.


	4. Crowley's Conundrum

**So I'm trying to decide if I'm going to post this as a weekly or fortnightly story, but all I know is it will become a more regular occurrence, and when I'm really productive two a week! YAY! I'm also writing a few more fanfics to post, so they're taking up quite a bit of my time. I will try to be on time though, I promise. I'm thinking Sundays? Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter, quite a lot of Crowley!**

**Somewhere in Texas, 2014, 6pm, beside the Impala**

Castiel could feel the cold steel on his throat as soon as he materialised beside the car. Crowley's short frame was tall enough to the get the blade to his throat, but any higher and he wouldn't have been able to deliver on the promise that the knife was making. Cas went to step sideways but Crowley turned him back smoothly, and Cas noticed the three other demons surrounding him.

"Ah, ah, ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you, Twinkle Toes. You see, I quite like you, and I really wouldn't want to mess up that gorgeous face of yours, but I really need to speak to Sam and Dean. You got their number?"

Castiel shook his head and Crowley dug the knife in slightly. He felt it break the skin and a tiny drop of blood began forming beneath the blade. One of the demons licked her lips unconsciously.

"Wrong answer." The King of Hell glowered and Cas swallowed carefully.

"No, I know where they are. They're in France. I'm just not quite sure _when._"

"Sorry, what?" Crowley spat. He stared at the angel, "Have you gone off your rocker again?"

"No, the boys were taken by a man in a blue box to France, but the box travels in time, so they could be anywhere in history. Also there was a girl, an attractive one I think, and Sherlock Holmes and John Watson were there." Castiel stated in the matter-of-fact way that he was accustomed to. Crowley shook his head in astonishment.

"You're mental. You've finally cracked it, haven't ya? Again."

"No!" Cas was aggravated; he needed to get back to his friends, "the man, his name was The Doctor and the girl was Clara, and he had a blue box!"

"Wait. Doctor?" Crowley felt something twitch in his head. Something from when the body he inhabited was human, something he'd supposedly long since erased; but maybe he couldn't erase something like that. Way back in the 60s, just before Crowley had taken over, the human had met someone in a blue box, with a female companion and his name had been… "Doctor you said? Really? Interesting." A curious expression replaced the anger, "take me to 'em."

"I can't. I don't know where they are."

"Well then find out, and_ then_ take me to 'em." He leant against the car.

Castiel closed his eyes and focussed, trying to pinpoint either of the brothers, but it wasn't working, so he switched his efforts to The Doctor instead – he was an anomaly – the most easily found target to latch onto. There! A green pulsating light that buzzed through the vortex – his screwdriver. Castiel grabbed Crowley and the demons jumped forwards but it was too late; the two men disappeared.

**Somewhere in France, 1944, 10am**

A feather-like gust of wind ruffled the still air around them and Sam and Dean jumped up in shock.

"Hello boys!" Crowley grinned wolfishly, still holding the sharp blade to Castiel's throat.

"Let him go!" Dean growled.

"Oh don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm not going to hurt him, I just needed to find you." He slipped the knife down and it disappeared into his jacket.

Clara stared around her and realised that at least four of them were wearing trenchcoats. _What is it about those jackets that somehow make everyone in this room more attractive?_ she thought, _Maybe I should get Dean a trenchcoat._ She caught herself looking sideways at him and decided that she liked his leather one better and then she inwardly berated herself for staring.

Once the knife was tucked away, Dean relaxed more and Castiel stepped away from the King of Hell who drew himself up to his full height – still barely reaching Watson's level, let alone anyone else's.

"As I was saying; hello Moose, Squirrel and friends, I am simply here to do a bit of a meet and greet, and then ask for a favour from these two lovely gentlemen. Oh, and who is this?" He walked towards Clara and kissed her hand, staring up at her saucily as she quietened, at least partially out of fear. Dean grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him back violently.

"Don't even _think_ about it Crowley. What do you want?"

Crowley laughed at him and extracted himself from Dean's grip, "I want to ask a favour. There's a rogue demon in my midst and he's possessed the body of a well-known politician. A very well-known one, in fact. I'm not _saying _that he's quite high up in the White House, but I am _implying it_, very heavily, so if you could take that hint and run with it… Moose? Anyone?"

Sherlock sighed, "Yes, we get it."

The Doctor, Watson, Clara, Dean and Sam all nodded but Castiel shook his head, confusion all over his face. Crowley just rolled his eyes at the angel and looked at Sherlock.

"Are you Mr Holmes then? Really?"

Sherlock nodded silently but the Doctor couldn't resist.

"Sherlock and John here live in an alternate reality to mine, and a different one to yours as well, but there are holes bleeding through into other universes, and the hole in Sherlock's just happened to bleed through to all the others, and so many of the other parallel universes have Arthur Conan-Doyle's compelling murder mysteries. Just like Sam and Dean's lives bled into my universe and created the show _Supernatural_ which is all about their adventures. Weirdly, the actors look exactly like you. Parallel displacement of identity I suppose." He beamed around at them and then he finally looked down at Crowley's face long enough to really see it, "Oh dear." He said.

"What's wrong Doctor?" Clara asked.

"Canton. I'm so, so, sorry. No really, I am, I'm sorry, when did this happen?" He asked, tugging at his jacket with one hand and scanning the demon with his screwdriver, "Oh."

"What?" Clara asked again.

"Nice to see you again old chap." Crowley bowed.

"What!?" Clara's question had gone from a direct one to a yell at the universe.

"I'm with her, what is going on?" Sam asked and Dean's arm crawled back towards his gun, the trust he'd built with the Doctor over the past few hours suddenly evaporating.

The Doctor looked up to find everyone staring at him in shock and Crowley started laughing manically before going behind the counter of the café. He stepped gingerly over the unconscious Frenchman and grabbed the hidden bottle of liquor from underneath the till. Dean looked over and Crowley waved it around. Dean blinked and Crowley grinned, pouring three glasses of alcohol and returning to the group. He gave one to Dean and was about to hand the other to Sam when Clara snatched it from his fingers.

"Sorry mate, you're gonna have to hold on," she said to Sam and swung the liquid into her throat. The Doctor gaped at her and she shrugged, "Sometimes I need something stronger than tea, something wrong with that?"

Sam walked over to get his own alcohol and everyone just continued to stare uncertainly at the Doctor.

"Ah. Yes, well, before I met you Clara, I was in America around the time of the moon landing, when Nixon was president and I met a man named Canton Everett Delaware the Third. He was brilliant, really clever, and River and Amelia loved him, but she was pregnant at the time, coincidentally with River, while River was cooking up a plan to kill me, well, not the River I was with, but another one, from a different time… I've lost you." He stated and everyone stared vacantly at him except Crowley who was staring at the bottom of his glass recalling the memories. He looked up at the mention of the Doctor's old companions.

"Amelia! That's the ginger one, right? What did you call her? _The Legs?_" He smirked.

Clara bristled. She liked to believe she was the only one that the Doctor fully trusted, and of course realistically she knew that it wasn't true; she'd heard the Doctor mention Amelia and River and countless others before and she knew who they were to him, but the fact that he'd shared a past with this short, angry man, just made her uncomfortable.

"Yeah, that's the one, _The Legs, The Nose and Mrs Robinson_. They were fun, I liked them. But I like your new one too." He glanced at Clara with a glint in his eye and Dean and the Doctor both shifted slightly forwards protectively, "Oh," Crowley frowned in the Winchester's direction, "You might have to compete for her Dean. I think she might be taken."

Dean and the Doctor glanced at each other and they both glared back at the demon, hiding sheepish guilt beneath their expressions. Clara tried to suppress her mirth but it spilled out through her eyes and Watson chuckled beside her merrily and the two of them dissolved into giggles. Sherlock rolled his eyes at them. Meanwhile Sam and Dean were just realising the name of the person Crowley was using.

"Canton Everett Delaware… the THIRD?!" There were three people with that ridiculous name?" Sam started cackling at this thought and Dean followed suit, tears of laughter threatening to stream down his face.

"Careful there Moose, you might snap an antler," Crowley snarled and the knife reappeared in his arm, "Now are you buffoons going to keep laughing at the name of gentleman I killed to inhabit this body or are you going to take this threat seriously like proper adults?"

Everyone quietened. The Doctor shook his head, "He was a good man." His voice was very soft and Clara knew instantly that he was angry. And when the Doctor was angry, big things happened so she grabbed his hand and squeezed it. Dean saw this and though it didn't show on his face, he was a little hurt.


	5. Moriarty Sends a Message

**France, Middle of WWII, 1944, 12pm**

"Doctor, stop. It's okay, we'll talk about that later, but right now we need to focus." Clara said, her fingers locking with his, trying to bring him back down to earth. Right now he was a million miles away, stuck in his own head trying to refrain from unleashing his rage. When she squeezed his hand he flinched and looked at her. She pleaded with him, her rich brown eyes speaking silently to him. He shuddered his fury to the back of his mind and though it was no longer front and centre, he could still feel it lurking beyond the scope of his thoughts, wrapping around him, trying to make him snap. This was how he lived every day, facing immeasurable injustices and trying to cope with them, some of them his own.

Dean's eyes dropped from their hands and Crowley grew impatient. He snapped his fingers in the air near the Winchesters' faces.

"Oi! Are you paying attention Squirrel? Good. Now, a demon has possessed someone… we all know who… and we have to stop him. In fact, we have to kill him, because I quite like the way the world is right about now; some evil, some good, always in battle, and this idiot wants to wipe out all of the good and leave only evil. He wants to take over America first, and start a nuclear war so that millions of people die. When that's done he's going to strike everyone until they're all begging to have their souls harvested for demon possession. I don't want that! Imagine the nightmare!"

"Yeah, okay, this is all well and good, but why are you so annoyed about it?" Sam speculated.

Crowley twitched, "I do actually like the planet I live on, you know that?" When the boys kept staring at him stoically he shrugged, "Also, he plans to assassinate me."

"And there it is." Dean muttered under his breath. Clara dropped the Doctor's hand once she realised he'd calmed down and she crossed to Dean.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"What? Yeah, fine." Dean flashed her a grin and she smiled tentatively back. Crowley poured himself another drink and slumped against the counter. The Frenchman started regaining consciousness and the demon looked down at him coldly before smacking the back of the counter door on his head. The man stopped moving and Crowley sighed, completely drained.

Everyone began to talk amongst each other and Castiel healed his wound, wiping the blood off with a finger and shrugging at the boys that he was fine. Sherlock and Watson were talking to the Doctor about something to do with Moriarty and Clara, bored, went to find the ladies room.

"Hello there sweetheart," a velvety, lilting Irish voice travelled from behind her. She turned and came face to face with a rather attractive, soft-featured man wearing a grey suit. The man smiled pleasantly at her and she took a step back.

"I know you, don't I?" she said.

"Do you? Well that _is _exciting."

"No, I saw… you were on that tape!" Clara's eyes widened and she started to back towards the room but Moriarty grabbed her shoulder and dug his fingers in painfully. She gasped and he put a hand over her mouth.

"Sorry sweetheart, but you need to send a message to Sherlock and the King of Hell. Would you do that for me?"

Dean was leaning against the door, waiting for the clever men to reach a conclusion. He was smart, he'd spent his life following clues and figuring things out, but he preferred to go for the easy target. Not because he couldn't think, but because he didn't like to. When he started thinking he couldn't stop, and then it all unravelled in front of him and he started panicking. So he shut it off – he thought about killing monsters, he drank and he picked up women and he tried as hard as possible to push away the thoughts that always hovered beside him. He was no Sherlock, but he was clever.

So when Clara had been gone for over five minutes, he began to suspect something was wrong. He glanced furtively around the room and he couldn't see anything but then… sulphur. He could smell sulphur, and something else, metallic, like…

At that very moment Clara appeared in the doorway and he thought he could relax when he noticed how pale she was. He looked down and what he saw sent chills down his spine.

She was clutching her stomach desperately, fruitlessly trying to close the gaping wound that covered half her torso. She was gasping silently, trying to breathe through lungs that were being slowly compressed by the blood around them. Her eyes were narrowed in pain and she was beginning to sweat. Blood dripping from her fingertips started forming a pool on the ground around her. She was holding herself up using the doorframe but it wasn't working; she was about to collapse in a heap in a pool of her own blood.

Crowley had seen her now as well and Dean jumped forwards and caught her as she fell. She clutched his jacket hysterically and he wrapped his arm around her torso, careful not to touch her wounds too sharply, trying to afford her some comfort, though he knew there was nothing to be done. Every breath was agony for her, he could see it; in the silent tears down her cheeks, the muscles tensed all over and teeth gritted against the throbbing ache that echoed throughout her whole body. He was kneeling in the doorway with her in his arms, one around her waist and the other stroking her hair and Crowley knelt down next to them. Dean looked at him with agony in his eyes and he thought he saw genuine concern flit across the face of the angry demon.

"Castiel!"

"Whoa," Sam said, still facing the other way, "Crowley's using your real name Cas, must be serious." It was at this point that all of the party turned around and when they witnessed the scene, everyone reacted differently.

Watson had seen enough battle wounds to know that it would be impossible to save the girl and he took off his hat respectively. Sherlock was horrified, but he kept a stoic expression, Sam covered his mouth in shock and horror and Castiel's face twisted into a mask of fury and his hands balled into fists. The Doctor's reaction was the most extreme. He ran over to Clara, tears spilling down his face, scanning her as he collapsed beside them.

"No… no, no, no, no, no! Please, not Clara, come on! Not my impossible girl!" The Doctor flicked the sonic upwards and when he saw the reading he paled considerably and Dean knew it was bad.

"Cas, can't you do something? Use your angel mojo?" He yelled desperately.

"I can't Dean I just jumped through time, I don't have enough left; I couldn't even heal a paper-cut."

Dean looked at the Doctor and he had no idea what to do. "Come on Clara. You can't die on me okay; I haven't even properly hit on you yet! You're missing out on some of my best moves," his fingers were entwined in her hair, stroking her face gently and his other arm was gripping her so tightly he didn't think he would ever let her go to the point where she was actually clinging to his strength, "You're not going anywhere Clara."

Clara managed a smile through her tears and the pain and she murmured something.

"What?" He leant forward.

"Moriarty… sends his – argh! – regards." She whispered. Sherlock and Watson both turned sharply.

"So does..." She trailed away, no longer able to speak- and Dean stiffened. Crowley growled; something animal deep in his throat. Clara felt the muscles in Dean's bicep move beneath her fingers and a brief idea flitted through her head that if this was any other time, she'd enjoy being in his arms. Her final coherent thoughts formed as she lay dying. _Actually,_ she thought, _despite the circumstances, I think I'm enjoying it now. It hurts so much. Maybe I should just let go… will they think less of me for giving up? I can't go on like this, their faces say it all. Doctor? _She looked into his eyes but received no answer and so her body made the decision for her. The Doctor held her hand and she closed her eyes one last time and released a final, tortured breath.

"Clara! No, come on Clara! Please!?" Dean gripped at her, tried to wake her but she was gone and the Doctor was silent. Nobody moved for what seemed like an age. None of them knew what to do. Silence was all any of them were capable of. Dean looked down at the girl in his arms – barely dead and yet so far from alive – and his heart broke for her. A single tear ran down his face, but he brushed it away. He wouldn't stay sad. Sadness drowns you. It traps you underneath the water and drags you into the depths, constricting you, cutting off your air and removing your will to continue. No. Sorrow was not the answer. As he brushed the tear away he let the desolation turn to rage. Grief might lock someone down but rage wakes them up, makes them stronger even when everything else they have is gone. Rage was the only thing that would keep him going. Then the Doctor spoke.

He spat the words through the fury that was covering him like a blanket, his hands fisted, tears still fresh on his cheeks, "Her death was needless."

"Doctor–." Castiel started.

"NO! Nobody has anything to say to me right now. Can any of you think of a way to sum up the grief that won't make it a hundred times worse? Forever isn't a blessing, it's a curse. Don't wish to live forever because it's not worth it. It's not worth it!" he screamed, "She didn't deserve that! She was good and kind, and clever and she deserved so much better! Some of my friends die in their sleep, some died on the battlefield, some have simply been displaced from the universe. But none of my family have ever been murdered in such a vicious way. I'd only just saved her from my grave at Trenzalore, only just gone through hell with her on Gallifrey, and she's been snatched from me. So… Do any of you have anything to say to me today?!"

The other men shut up, but Cas would not be silenced.

"Yes. You think we all haven't lost people? I've lost more than anyone here will ever lose, tenfold. Don't claim to hold the monopoly on grief Doctor, because we've all been in the position you're in. Maybe not as many times as you, but ask the Winchester's about Bobby. Or their father. Ask them about Ellen or Jo. Ask them about Adam, their half-brother, or Chuck the prophet. Ask them about Kevin Tran, Doctor, or the innumerable others they've lost. Ask John what it felt like when Sherlock died." Castiel closed his eyes and decided to finally say what he'd never been able to admit, "ask me what it felt like to realise that my father had abandoned us, that I was responsible for the deaths of so many of my brothers and sisters. Ask me what it felt like to watch Sam and Dean die over and over. Ask me what it felt like to lose Meg, Anna, Gabriel, Ezekiel… everyone I've ever loved. Ask us Doctor. And then remember that you're not alone."

Everyone froze awkwardly, staring at Castiel. The angel was rigid, fists at his sides, face drawn and eyes barely slits trying to hold in the wrath he was struggling not to bestow. The Doctor let his head drop to his chest and Cas got down on his knees beside him, placing a gentle hand on the Timelord's shoulder. With such horror pressing down on them, they went back to angry reflection until Crowley couldn't stand it anymore.

"Right. That's it," he said, "Moriarty is a dead man."

The Doctor shook his head and his eyes pierced a hole in the wall beside the man. Sam's lip curled in detest. Watson spoke to Sherlock quietly but his eyes couldn't leave the body of the girl; too young.

Crowley stuck in, "Lucifer." He could tell.

"No." Sam said.

"Sorry?" the Doctor glared up at the tall man, but Sam, though intimidated, would not back down.

"It can't be Satan. We killed him already. He's dead."

"Sam, when did you kill him?" The Doctor said softly.

"Uh, I don't know _exactly_, but –."

"Was it in the 21st Century?"

"Yeah."

"You don't think that Lucifer himself could've found a loophole in death?" The question was rhetorical and as Sam raised a shocked hand to his mouth The Doctor grabbed Crowley in a vice-like grip. He pulled a note from the demon's fingers. A note that was spattered with the blood of his companion. He read it aloud.

"_This is the last time you cross me Crowley. Sherlock, the Doctor and your precious Winchesters are going down, and I'm taking out the rest of them on the way. Then, once they're all dead and gone, I'm coming for you. And don't think for one second that I will be merciful. I am not an angel anymore."_


	6. The Prophecy

**France, Middle of WWII, 1944 1pm**

"_This is the last time you cross me Crowley. Sherlock, the Doctor and your precious Winchesters are going down, and I'm taking out the rest of them on the way. Then, once they're all dead and gone, I'm coming for you. And don't think for one second that I will be merciful. I am not an angel anymore."_

Long after the Doctor spoke the words they hung in the air. Everyone could feel them pressing down, heavy with the blood of their dead friend; heavy with the pain of loss. Dean struggled to breathe, and not for the first time. Every time something like this happened it was the like atmosphere was losing its oxygen and he couldn't focus. Everyone he'd ever cared about had died. Even Sam and Castiel had died at some point or another. His lungs contracted, screaming silently for whatever was missing.

"Only five will remain," Cas said solemnly.

"What?" Watson asked; a sharp edge to his voice that hadn't been there before. He'd seen bodies before, he'd been in wars before, but this… this was truly gruesome. Lucifer had redefined needless murder for a man who'd seen more of it than anyone there.

"The Prophecy said that only five would remain when the evening had reached its pause. One will die, one will fall and one will escape this life."

"Aren't they all just ways of saying the same thing – that three of us are going to die?" Dean asked.

"I suppose." Cas's voice wavered uncertainly. The Doctor and Sherlock weren't so sure either, but they kept their suspicions to themselves.

"Hang on! The prophecy doesn't make any sense." Sam said defiantly.

"It's a prophecy; they're not supposed to be crystal clear." Crowley snarled.

No, ah, it said that eight would start and five would finish, but… count us; Me, Dean, Cas, Crowley, Sherlock, Watson, Clara and the Doctor."

"Yes Moose. That's eight."

"It said eight would _start _the fight but Cas and Crowley arrived halfway through. It also said that we were _noble _men and women. Crowley isn't exactly a gentleman. And woman was plural even though it was just Clara. None of it makes any sense."

"Oh, who cares!" Dean yelled.

"Actually," Sherlock noted, "He could be onto something." The cogs in his mind began to whir and the words began springing up in front of his eyes. He pulled apart the prophecy in his mind, waving away the impossible conclusions and finding the improbable truth.

_"Eight noble men and women,_

**EIGHT…**

_Fighting evil's cause; _**(CAUSE, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?)**

_Eight start_** –( SIX STARTED IT!) – **_the fight; only five remain_**, (5)**

_When the evening has reached its pause. _**(12AM? 11:59PM?) **

_One will die _**(CLARA)**_, one will fall,_**(DEATH AGAIN?)**

_One will escape this life,_**(DEATH OR…WHAT?)**

_The five remaining hold their breaths,_

_Until they've escaped all evil strife._**(LUCIFER; WWII; THE THREE DEATHS – WHICH ONE IS THE ESCAPE – ALL THREE?)"**

His thoughts continued like that for a few seconds before he settled on a conclusion.

"Doctor… is it possible that two more people started the quest before Crowley and Castiel arrived?"

"I supposed it could be…"

"It doesn't mention the ninth and tenth members of our troupe because Crowley is a demon and Castiel is a fallen angel – neither of which are noble. So the five remaining would actually be seven because those two will survive by exemption. Which means two others started this at the same time as us and we just haven't crossed paths yet."

The Doctor started nodding, "If we go back to the TARDIS we can find the other two. Let's go."

The group turned but as they took their first steps towards the door to the alley, said door burst open in a hullaballoo of beeps and whines and two people followed behind.

"Which one of you is the Doctor?"

The Doctor's jaw fell open.


	7. The Eight Come Together

**France, Middle of WWII, 1944 1:30PM**

The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver from the pocket of his tweed jacket and it started whining, matching the whining coming from the blue thing glowing in the other man's hand.

"Oh brilliant! I saw the TARDIS outside, so I thought it'd be you… ah, me… um, you. Not how I imagined I would look – are you the next one or have there been a few since me?"

"The very next," The Doctor said, still thinking intently. He was staring right into the face of his last regeneration. He hadn't done that since their adventures with the War Doctor. Although, the Doctor wouldn't remember it, and even if he did there was no guarantee that this was a linear Doctor – the War Doctor adventure might not have even happened yet. Sometimes time-travel was confusing, even for the Doctor. He sighed and put his screwdriver away just as the other Doctor did the same. It was only then that he looked past and saw the woman with him.

While Ten looked Eleven up and down, commenting on the chin and the outfit, Eleven stared at the woman. He was barely concentrating enough to retort to the scathing comment about the bow tie, but he caught it just in time.

"Bow ties are cool. Besides some of us have worn worse. Remember the question marks? And the Flute?"

"Hey, I liked the flute!" The old Doctor's eyes twinkled mischievously.

"Hang, Doctor are you telling me that this is you? Another one?" The blonde girl spoke for the first time.

"Yes." The two men answered in unison.

"Rose?" It wasn't really a question. The Doctor stepped forward and pulled her into a huge bear-hug. She tentatively returned it and a smile swept across her pretty face.

"Two of you at the same time?" She grinned, "This is going to be interesting."

"Will someone, for the love of god, tell us what is going on!?" Dean bellowed and the trio finally acknowledged the bewildered people.

"The Doctor does this thing called Regeneration – when he's dyin' he kind of changes, becomes an entirely new person." Rose tugged at a lock of her hair as she spoke, her eyes wandering over the new faces.

"Like a demon? Just puts his soul into another person's body?" Sam frowned.

"No, he makes the body himself – it's a Timelord thing. His whole form changes, his face his taste-buds, his mannerisms. Everythin'. But it's still the Doctor. It's kind of hard to explain."

"Yeah, no kidding." Sam's frown faded slightly, replaced with amusement, although the grief was still as it had been before.

It was then that Ten saw the grim expressions of the whole party and he looked beyond them to where the body of Clara lay, wrapped in a blanket that one of them had found in the home on the second floor.

"Oh I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. What happened?"

"It's complicated." Eleven sat down on the nearest chair with a thud and rubbed his face, "Why are you two here?"

"It's complicated." Rose and Ten said at the same time and the Doctor's smile returned, albeit a little smaller, as he turned to the other six people, "Who are you lot?"

"It's complicated." They said synonymously. Dean and Sam crossed their arms.

All of them looked at each other in silence. And then looked some more. They looked at each other so long that it became ever so slightly awkward. And the longer they looked the more awkward it became, but by that time they were so far gone that they just continued to wallow in the awkwardness. For most of them, it gave them a chance to dwell on something other than the death of their friend.

Crowley was the one who broke the silence.

"So these two are the ones the prophecy talked about right? Does that even count? There's two of the same person."

"Ah yes, but we're from completely different time-streams, and technically we're different people… sort of." The Doctor said, "I don't know, we need to study the prophecy more. Maybe it counts him and I as the same person and Castiel is the eighth member, or maybe we're separate people and Cas is safe. I don't know; I need time to think!" He groaned in frustration, emotions building again.

Sam and Watson jumped forward to place their hands on his shoulders in an attempt to calm him. Rose's hand automatically slipped into the Old Doctor's searching for some comfort – for a place to hide from the raw grief in front of her.

"It did say one shall die; I assume that's Clara. Maybe the escaping this life is you regenerating into, well, you." Sherlock gestured between the two doctors.

"No, it didn't happen this way." Eleven said, tweaking his suspenders. Ten stared at him curiously and opened his mouth to say something.

"No. We're not going to talk about it."

"I was actually going to ask what you were doing here."

"Ah. Well, it's a long story."

So the Doctor filled in the other Doctor and Rose with their venture with a little, and often rude, input from the Winchesters, and then it was their turn to listen.

"So we had just gotten home from this amazing trip to an impossible planet orbiting around a black hole, and it turned out that the whole thing was actually a trap for a giant ancient demon and the Doctor broke the trap and sent the planet into the black hole, and I thought he'd died, but it turned out-" Rose's sentence cut short with a look from Ten, "Okay not important. Anyway so we thought we were home but when we stepped out of the TARDIS it smelt funny, like rotten eggs and the sonic was picking up weird vibes – like yours. So we followed it, like you. The only difference is, we didn't recruit a bunch of fictional characters along the way." She threw a dirty look at her own Doctor as if to say; _Why couldn't we have done that? _He returned the glare with a grin and she melted internally.

"So we must be the other two that the prophecy mentioned. Ooh, Rose, we're _noble. _That's a fun word, isn't it? Noble? Wouldn't it be brilliant to know someone with the name Noble?"

Eleven laughed and spun around in the way he always did when he was feeling cocky. His mind flipped and he tried to put Clara to the side, he would never be able to accomplish anything if he let everything bad that ever happened drag him down. Besides, he could feel the stirrings of a plan at the back of his mind. There was something not quite right with her death. And it couldn't be coincidental that Rose and Ten had just returned from the trip to see the ancient demon. The universe was conspiring to bring events together and he didn't like it. The last time that happened, the Pandorica had opened and the world had ended. So he stood up straight and straightened his bowtie.

"I have a plan."

"So do I." Ten said.

"Well. That's unfortunate. What are the odds that we have the same plan?" Eleven said.

"High I'd say, relatively speaking."

"Does yours involve trans-dimensional jumping and space-flux and paradoxes?"

"Yep."

"Good. Because that's exactly what we need."


	8. The Plan

**France, Middle of WWII, 1944 2PM**

"Okay here's the plan. We split up. Who would like to go with who?" Eleven asked.

"That's your plan?" Dean rolled his eyes.

"It's less of a plan and more of a thing. Don't disrespect the thing." Eleven muttered.

"Fine, well I'm not letting Crowley out of my sight."

"Aw, not even after our adventures together?" Crowley chuckled at the memories.

"Actually it's because of that. You let me wander around as a demon!"

"Hey, I fixed that! Eventually."

"Uh-huh." Dean enunciated sardonically. He looked at Sam, who nodded and took a step towards Sherlock and Watson, neither of whom were willing to split up. Then the two parties disappeared off towards their respective TARDIS's.

Eleven wandered around the console, flicking levers while Dean, Castiel and Crowley leaned against the railing. He rotated the screen to face them and with the press of a button the other TARDIS interior appeared. Ten, Rose, Sherlock, John and Sam all gazed back at them and Ten frowned as he saw the new TARDIS.

"I don't like it."

"You never do." Eleven sighed, "Although, I do miss my grunge phase."

"Grunge? This is brilliant! Why is yours completely silver? You couldn't give it a homely edge; you had to make it look like the inside of a Cyberman's stomach?"

"Oh, you… shut up. So here's the plan. One of us goes back to the day where we felt the leak, and the other group goes stays in the past when it actually happened and we see what occurs." The Doctor tapped on a keyboard and the TARDIS started wheezing. Ten started flicking dials and said,

"I'll go to the location and just pray that it's not a warzone, you go to the leak," and then the screen went blank.

"That sound is oddly comforting." Castiel stared straight ahead as he spoke, his face not betraying any emotion.

"The sound the TARDIS makes, the wheezing, the groaning. That sound brings hope wherever it goes. To anyone who hears it; however lost." The Doctor said quietly, remembering the words of the interface when he was the War Doctor. The interface that looked like Rose; the _Bad Wolf_. He was never going to escape that woman. One day she would be the death of him. Well, she already had once or twice.

"That sounds like a mantra." Cas remarked.

"Yes, well, that _mantra _saved billions of lives. Including mine. A few of mine actually."

"You know, most of the stuff that comes out of your mouth is complete crap." Dean uncrossed his arms and smirked, letting them swing by his sides.

The grinding stopped and the door to the TARDIS swung open. In front of them was the same alleyway that the Doctor and Clara had stepped out in the day the adventure had started – the day the prophecy started coming true. Already the smell of sulphur was heavy in their nostrils and the readings on the TARDIS were erratic, showing a lot of rift activity and some indecipherable trace elements in the atmosphere.

"Yeah, this is definitely the place." Ten's voice echoed throughout the room and the Doctor looked over at the monitor but it was off, "So now all we have to do is see if there is a rift here and find out what's visible from my other end. Oh, no I'm never saying that again, forget I said that." A lot of laughter could be heard, sounding like Watson, Rose and Sam. Crowley looked around but there was no-one there.

"Well. That'll be the rift then." The Doctor said.

"No shit, Sherlock." Dean said.

"Oi! Rude. Okay so there's definitely a leak here. Now we just need to work out what exactly happened on that day, and why it leaked through to this day."

"Do you deliberately try to make your speeches confusing, or do you just normally speak like a four year old who ate a dictionary?"


	9. Demon Days

_**Sorry for the short chapters guys, but unfortunately studies are taking me over and I won't be able to post as often or as much. I'd really love to keep writing with the ferocity I was a little while ago, because I've become really invested in this story, but I just don't have time. Hope you enjoy this one – feedback is always welcome. Again, I'm really sorry about how slack I've been lately. 3**_

_**Manchester, Present Day 11pm**_

"So this place and time directly links to that place and time? How? And Why?" Crowley muttered.

"The random chaotic nature of the universe?" Castiel suggested.

Dean lifted his hands in mock fight. "Hey, Cas, keep the existential crisis to yourself please."

The Doctor just kept scanning the walls, oblivious to his surroundings. He needed to immerse himself in this problem. The only person who could possibly understand what he was going through was himself, but talking to yourself is the first sign of madness after all so he resisted the urge to call Ten and lament their fallen companion. He pulled his jacket tighter against the cold and turned in a full circle. Something wasn't right, something was different.

Dean was still teasing Cas, and the angel just stood stoically as usual but they were all quietly preparing for battle. Crowley stood by him, sniggering while his eyes darted around, searching for danger, waiting for the moment he would need to disappear. Castiel was still recovering from his time jump, trying to regain his strength so that if a threat appeared, he could fight it off, if not to save himself, then at least enough to sacrifice himself for his friends. Dean's hands were relaxed, but twitching like an eager trigger finger, expectant of the imminent threat, waiting for the inevitable confrontation. They all stood and watched as the Doctor frowned and stiffened. Dean crossed his arms against the icy breeze.

"Something isn't right here." The Doctor lamented.

"Uh-huh. Isn't that why we're here? 1945 France links to present day Manchester, Lucifer and Moriarty are involved, and we're trusting _Crowley…_ Nothing is right about this situation." Dean chortled and his green eyes flashed cheekily, but the Doctor was too deep in thought to notice.

Crowley stifled his indignant growl and rubbed his hands together, "I agree. Something's not quite kosher. It's too easy; the link was too obvious. Something about this situation feels like a trap. It feels even more like a trap when you think about the combined intellect of Moriarty and Lucifer. It's just strange."

Dean felt a tug within his chest and closed his eyes. He didn't need Castiel to see him falter; the angel would become worried and the last thing he needed was someone else to worry about him.

He felt the blackness within him swell and when he looked over at the window he caught his reflection. With a start he was sure he saw black pits where his eyes should be and then he took a deep breath and it was gone but he was shaken. He saw Crowley glance at him curiously and he shrugged.

"Just startled myself is all."

The Doctor had noticed now, but he bit his tongue, _task at hand, task at hand… Dean… nope, Lucifer, Moriarty, death and destruction. Task at hand Doctor! Okay, alright. First we need to focus on staying alive. Alive is good… alive is important… alive…. Clara…_

His thoughts congealed into a mess of brown eyes and twisted memories and he leaned against the wall, panting heavily against the pain he felt deep within his broken frame. And then, just like it had done when he was dying in the TARDIS when River poisoned him, just like the interface he'd so desperately tried to coax into sympathising, his brain suddenly flicked on. And just like the simple phrase the hologram of Amy had spoken, it was the words of his companion that spurred him on.

"_Run. Run, you clever boy. And remember me."_

His eyes snapped open and he leapt across the room. He twisted his screwdriver and pointed it at the ceiling. It began to squeal and Crowley clapped his hands to his ears and dropped to the floor. Castiel seemed completely unaffected but Dean's fist clenched and he cracked his neck.

"What are you doing!?" Crowley bellowed.

"Sonicking! Turned it to the frequency that only affects demons, and then flicked the volume up. By a lot! Don't worry, it won't be on for long; soon Lucifer will feel it and come running."

"What!?" Crowley, Dean and Castiel all said at the same time, but now the Doctor was running towards them and with a flick of the wrist the noise stopped. He dived behind them and grabbed Crowley and Cas by the collars, dragging them down with him. Dean followed suit and then the entire room was silent.

The entire building was silent. Actually, the entire street. Like the universe was holding its breath in anticipation of the colossal event about to happen. Crowley was breathing through his nose in defiance of Cas's hand on his shoulder, but he knew that he couldn't leave. Dean was checking the bullets in his gun and the Doctor was changing the setting on the screwdriver.

"Oh, what's that gonna do? Mildly irritate him?" Crowley barked.

"That would be handy, wouldn't it? Because if it irritated him enough, he might be distracted enough for Dean to take him out, at least temporarily." The Doctor bit back, fire in his throat and the small demon closed his mouth, glaring at the hand that still hadn't moved from his shoulder.

Dean looked at his companions and then down at his hands, with the gun firmly nestled there – where it was supposed to be. "If we can't stop him, if we can't get out… I'll keep him distracted long enough for the rest of you to, I dunno, make a move, or escape, your choice."

"Actually, big brother, you won't be doing that alone." A voice came from behind him. He turned and saw Sam, Rose, Watson and Sherlock falling into step between the already settled men.

Ten peeked around the corner and then whispered, "Oh, don't mind me, I'll face this way in case he's got backup." And then his head disappeared back behind the wall.

A small smile played against the corners of Dean's mouth and he fought to push it back into hiding. He felt at home, like he belonged again. A group of people so similar and yet so radically different. And then the smile fell and a lump rose in his throat. This was how he'd felt last time they'd gone up against Lucifer, and then Jo…. And later, Bobby… his heart broke all over again and he gritted his teeth against the oncoming storm.

"Never again."


	10. Down and Out

_**Manchester, present day, 11:30pm**_

"I wonder which one was the red herring?" Watson said.

"Neither."

Everyone turned as Sherlock spoke. He wore a grim mask of determination and was playing with the cuffs of his jacket while he glanced around the room, analysing every part of it. Sam coughed so that he'd continue and he flicked his eyes back to the group.

"Neither?" Sam asked quietly.

"Lucifer is gone in this time, right?" Sherlock sighed, "But he was still around in the 1940s – in fact, he was stronger in the 40s than he'd been in a long time. So he put a contingency plan into place in case he got stuck again. He is clever, very clever. But I figured it out, after seeing the state of Moriarty's body."

"What?" Sam was still confused but both of The Doctor's seemed to be on the verge of figuring it out, as they were looking at Sherlock with a kind of mutual reverence.

With another small sigh, this time of exasperation, Sherlock continued, "Around the time he was rising last time, there was a weakness between universes and somehow he managed to get through and find Moriarty. I think before was trapped in the pit again, he found a way to escape. Through the soul of a being as evil as him. So on his way down to hell he grabbed the soul of Moriarty as it whipped past, and attached himself to it. Just part of himself, not enough to be detected. But when Moriarty came back to life, Lucifer came with him. And now Lucifer is taking over. "

"Yes, yes, yes, because someone resurrected Moriarty – called out a crossroads deal and brought him back for their own nefarious purposes, not realising what they were doing, and it brought Lucifer back with him. It really is quite brilliant." Ten pondered, running his hands through his hair.

"Oh, but I don't think that Lucifer counted on Moriarty dying… that's why it took so long - his plans changed." The Doctor wagged his finger and both Ten and Sherlock nodded.

"Urgh, don't you guys get sick of this? This…" Sam trailed off.

"Superiority?" Watson asked.

"Rambling thoughts?" Rose smirked.

"Randomness?" Dean finished.

"No." Everyone said in unison, and then laughed. Then the smell of sulphur wafted its way into their nostrils and they all fell silent, hardly breathing. Dean gripped his gun and felt the mark on his arm burning. He didn't have Cain's blade with him though, so he'd have to make do with his normal assortment of weapons: two guns and a knife.

"You're right you know my lovelies." Moriarty chorused, "Moriarty was supposed to be alive when I came back… but he made the unfortunate decision to win his battle with Sherlock, which forced my hand. Well done kittens, I'm very proud."

Sherlock, Watson, Sam and Dean ground their teeth and rolled their eyes in annoyance and hatred. The Doctors and Rose just closed their eyes and sighed. Then Moriarty struck.

All the doors slammed at once with an enormous crash. Sam dived behind another counter as a piece of chair ricocheted towards his head. Moriarty threw something else and then everyone scattered. Dean found himself rammed between a countertop and the wall and he could feel Lucifer pushing him further in. He strained against it but he knew it was no use. He just had to hope someone would distract the devil.

Ten grabbed Rose and pushed her to the ground behind a flimsy table. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and leapt up, chasing Watson out the nearest door. As it swung shut behind her, The Doctor knelt down next to ten and grinned.

"Why do they always run off?" They both looked at each other knowingly and then dived to other sides of the room as the flimsy wood of the table exploded outwards due to the sudden presence of a very large piece of metal framing. The Doctor felt a sudden pull on his collar and then Cas was whipping him around a corner. He stumbled against the wall and dropped heavily to the floor. His bow-tie was askew and he'd just flicked his hand up to the red around his throat when Ten came hurtling past him, Cas following shortly behind. All three of them were panting and Cas's shirt was hanging out over his belt. Ten's hair seemed more gravity defiant than usual but that might have been due to the fact that he kept running his fingers through it, thoughts racing, trying to remember something.

"He's still out there." Sherlock's voice was quiet at the other end of the hallway but Ten's eyes widened and he bared his teeth against the truth.

"Who is?" Cas's face was stoic, as usual, but he didn't have to ask. Dean was the only one that none of them had seen escape. Sam had leapt through a broken window, Rose and Watson had run through the back and Sherlock had just joined the three of them. The only one missing was…

"There!" Ten hissed. He was pointing at a window halfway up the wall further down the corridor. The four of them shuffled towards it, but they needn't have bothered being quiet. Lucifer knew they were there. He just didn't care.

"Oh Dean. It seems your friends have left you. How awful for you. WOuldn't be the first time though, would it? People just keep leaving you, don't they? Maybe it's because they know."

"Know what?" Dean snarled.

"They know that if they stick around long enough, they'll die. Or worse. How's Sam? Still a tortured soul? Not as tortured as you at the moment, I'll wager. Mark of Cain? Oh sweetheart, really you shouldn't swim so far out of your depth. A current might push you under." With that he shot one sliver of broken metal into Dean's shoulder.

He bellowed in pain and his jaw clenched, grinding his teeth down. His breath was coming out in gasps but he fought to keep it under control. He felt something move inside him and he remembered what he'd seen in his reflection from earlier. A plan struck him and he started smiling through the sweat running down his face.

"So Lucy, still annoyed that we sent you back to your tiny box? And Morry, still pissed that Sherlock beat you? You did everything you could to take him down and all you succeeded in doing was ensuring his success. That's gotta sting," he caught a glimpse of the four faces in the window over Moriarty's shoulder and he winked at them. The Doctor's face cleared and he turned and ran out of view but Dean didn't care anymore, "But not as much as it must sting Lucy that he was SO close to reaching his goal and he was foiled by a pathetic, self-loathing demon hunter? God it must be HELL inside your head. Two people who refuse to blame themselves for their own, stupid, mistakes. Who else are you gonna blame? Me? Trust me, there's no way you can break me more than I already am. So go for it. Give it your BEST SHOT! BREAK ME!"

Moriarty's face contorted viciously and then all the debris in the room went flying into the wall. Bits of glass, metal and wood were pinning Dean's lifeless frame to the wall when The Doctor came flying around the corner. He wasn't fast enough and Lucifer flicked him into the wall. An ear-shattering yell pierced the air and Moriarty turned to see Sam grabbing at Dean. He jerked his wrist and the debris removed itself from the wall and dropped to the ground, along with Dean's body. Sam gripped it and yelled at his brother, but he knew it was no use. Watson leant down to examine Dean but even from five feet away he knew a lost cause. He sighed in frustration and anguish – couldn't he save anyone today?

Lucifer was watching the chaos with a smile on Moriarty's face. None of them cared about him anymore. They knew he'd gotten what he wanted – to make them suffer again. But they just didn't understand how delectable it was to make something feel so utterly devastated. It was exhilarating watching the pain and anger and heartbreak in their eyes as they all accepted the inevitable. They were all on their knees and Rose and Sam were crying. Sherlock, Ten and The Doctor looked livid. Castiel was the only one standing, his hand on Watson's shaking shoulders. Watson himself just looked defeated. PERFECT. He slipped back more into the shadows but… something was stopping him.

It was like he'd hit an invisible wall.

He turned back towards the group but as he did something even harder hit him from the front and he was forced a step back. He frowned and pushed back against it and then it threw him sideways into a wall where he slumped but didn't fall because it was holding him halfway towards the ceiling. His eyes widened and he searched the group of grief stricken people, searching for a sign that they were doing it, but not one of them had moved. Except…

Dean's eyes flew open but now they were black as the darkest pits of hell and beyond. He jumped to his feet and took a single, menacing step forward.

"Nice try."


	11. The Devil's Trap

_**Hey guys, I know I've been terribly slack, but finals will do that to a person. Plus I've been involved in the School production of LSOH, so that took up a lot of my time. In return for you all waiting so patiently, I thought I would post two chapters in two days, because I love you all and I've really missed writing this story. Unfortunately I might be disappearing again for a month, but I'll always come back :)**_

* * *

"Nice try."

He rolled his shoulders back as he felt his skin healing over the gaping wounds all over his body. His shirt had holes in it and he looked down at himself; the rips in his clothes were nothing, and the wounds weren't even going to scar. But Lucifer had just done something very dangerous. He'd woken the demon in Dean and there wasn't a single person in the room who could stop him now. Not Moriarty, not even Lucifer. The Mark of Cain was burning but instead of hurting as usual, the heat was spreading all over his body like a hungry flame of rage.

"What have you done?" Both Doctors spoke at the same time, but while Ten spat it angrily towards Lucifer, The Doctor was staring at the newborn demon in sorrow.

Dean took another step forward and Sam recoiled in horror. Watson was gaping in shock, while Sherlock was actually allowing awe to cross his face. Castiel had broken his stoic façade and was moving quickly. He threw himself into Dean's shoulder, forcing him back a step.

"No, Dean please. Please, you've healed, just go back to being human." He was gripping Dean's shredded jacket with both hands, elbow across his throat, trying to make him look over. Trying to convince him.

"It's no use Cas," Dean's voice was quiet, but instead of his husky drawl it was a gravelly mutter, "dying in anger means coming back in anger. Luckily for you there's only one person I'm really mad at." He shoved Cas back and he collapsed to the floor, still weak from the time jump, and then his hand was around Moriarty's throat.

Lucifer started to laugh, believing he could easily shake off a lesser demon. But he forgot about the Mark of Cain.

Dean began squeezing, crushing Moriarty's windpipe and he was sure he could hear the scream of the demon within him. The devil was dying and he thought he would feel something other than rage, but all he could feel within himself was endless insanity – ice cold vs. white hot. Rage was two sides of the same spectrum, hot and cold, black and white, pain and love. Rage was his everything. It was the dull ache of the dying pulse against his fingers. It was the feverish run of blood through his pumping veins. It was the torture of feeling the eyes of his friends locked on him, knowing that even if they tried, they couldn't stop him. It was the agony of being a failure no matter whether he was human or demon. Rage filled him up and it tore him down. He WAS rage. He felt his old self within him, trying to break through but being pushed further down as his fingers tightened.

He could hear Sam calling his name but it wasn't hard to tune out his whining. It was everything else. Suddenly everything was too loud. He could hear Cas's ragged breathing, Ten's angry panting, and the flickering pulse beneath his fingers was deafening. Worse than that he could hear the creak of the walls and the whipping of the wind. His grip on Moriarty got tighter and then he just let go. The demon-man hybrid lay on the ground gasping for air and the mark on Dean's arm started hurting again.

He clenched his fist against the pain and felt Sam's strong hand on his shoulder. He managed to stay on his feet but he clapped his hands over his ears. Cas was on his other side and together they pulled him to a bench where they made him sit. He tried to thank them but he couldn't speak and when he pulled his hand away from his ear, blood was dripping from his fingers. It was times like this that he remembered everything he'd been through, how many years he'd spent in Hell, the time he'd spent protecting his brother and screwing everything up anyway. He tried so hard and always seemed to fail in the long run. He struggled to stand but the blood was dripping down his legs and his vision was blurring. One of the many moments when it appeared that everything was lost, though usually Castiel or Crowley was there to prop him up, either from threats or friendship. Usually threats.

"His eyes are still black." Sam said.

"I know." Cas deadpanned.

"If he's still a demon, why did he let Lucifer go?"

"I don't know." Cas's tie was still askew but he didn't seem to care anymore.

"I'm right here!" Dean found his voice, "and can we focus less on the colour of my eyes, pretty as they are, and more on the fact that my ears are bleeding?!" His voice rose.

Ten winced, "he's touchy!"

Sherlock had his eyes closed and was waving at the air strategically. Sam shot a questioning look at Watson, who responded with, "mind palace."

Dean was pulling strips off his shirt and dabbing at his ears when Sherlock's eyes flew open.

"CROWLEY."

"What about him?" Sam asked, but even as the question escaped his lips, the answer was dawning on him like a mildly irritating sunrise.

"Where is he?" Cas frowned.

"Exactly." Sherlock smiled, "Where is he?"


	12. Demon River Rapids

_**Sierra Madre, 4pm, Present Day**_

Crowley was feeling uncharacteristically guilty. He was sitting on a bench in a small town in Los Angeles County, arms stretched out along the railings, looking down the street towards the café where the smell of coffee was wafting from. It was floating toward him, beckoning tantalizingly, but he closed his eyes and focused on the uncomfortable feeling in his belly. He hated it, this guilty gnawing. For years he'd avoided it so easily – his utter disregard for the feelings and lives of others had made it very easy to skip through life untouched by negative emotions. But since he'd met the boys – his boys – his stomach had fallen back into the human habits of guilt, regret and, though he'd never admit it, genuine affection. Which of course was why he was sitting on the bench in the first place, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd somehow let the boys down by bailing on them.

When Lucifer had appeared, everything had immediately devolved to chaos. Castiel let go of him to dive behind something, both Doctors were unconsciously putting themselves in the way of the humans, Sherlock disappeared down a hallway, and Sam ran through a door. Everything was going crazy and as Crowley's head whipped around to check for Dean, he caught Lucifer's eye. The devil was staring at him with fascination as though he could see something no-one else could. As Crowley knelt there, frozen, he saw Moriarty's gaze drop to the man in front of him and the look only deepened. It was a look of confusion and curiosity and Crowley hated it with every fibre of his being. Something about Moriarty's expression just made his skin crawl and he reached out to grab Dean's shoulder, but Lucifer got there first. Dean was yanked through the air and hit the wall, hard. Crowley saw Lucifer's hand twitch toward the suspended demon hunter and he clicked his own fingers.

He stood up in the town square of Sierra Madre, a town he'd grown to love throughout his travels for its utter tranquility. Unfortunately, this time he wasn't there to rest. He was there to save his boys.

"Sir?" A timid voice rose from behind him.

"Yes."

"I have what you needed." The voice became even more reserved.

"Did you touch it?"

"No. The other one did. He died." The voice faltered.

"It still works then." Crowley let himself relax slightly and then a bundle wrapped in shimmering material fell on his lap. He yelped and jumped up as it fell. He hand his hands around the throat of the demon before the parcel had even hit the ground.

"Don't EVER be so careless. You said the other one died just touching it. Why would you then drop it on me?"

The demon whimpered and clutched feebly at his hand, but he wasn't going to kill it. He knew why the demon had dropped it; it wanted to be rid of the power it held as soon as possible. It was more scared of the weapon and the talisman in the wrapped material than it was of Crowley. He tilted his head at the floor where it lay and let go of the demon, "Get out of my sight."

It went scampering away down the street and was soon lost to the sound of tinkling restaurant music and the soft whispering of lovers in booths as the sun began to set. The rays of light hit the bundle and it seemed to be glowing. It was starting to attract the attention of the passers by now, and he swiftly reached down and picked it up, careful not to let it touch him, pulling the material tighter around it. He could feel the ripples of power emanating from it and it took all of his strength not to just drop it and run the same way of the lesser demon. He sighed and cracked his neck.

"I'm going to need a long bath when this is all over." He grumbled, and then he clicked his fingers and Sierra Madre continued about its business as though he'd never been there, while the lesser demon continued to run aimlessly until he was in the next town over.

_**Brisbane, Australia, 6am, Present Day**_

River Song was in trouble. She was cornered in a crappy thrift store surrounded by irritating Australian civilians and the thing was gaining on her. She couldn't start shooting, because she might hit someone. Her hair was flying wildly around her face and she took a deep breath.

"Everybody get down, this is a robbery!" She bellowed and held her gun in the air. Why did it always come down to the robbery excuse? She rolled her eyes as she jumped over a counter towards the only person who wasn't already lying on the ground. She launched herself at him and he went down with one blast of her high-tech gun. She immediately attached a funny looking bracelet to his wrist and pressed some buttons on her remote.

"Sorry everyone, Queensland Police, and this man," she held up the unconscious figure, "is a fugitive of the law. I needed you all on the floor to avoid casualties. Please go about your business. Thank you for your cooperation."

River dragged the man out of the store and into the nearest side street. She pressed a few more buttons and then twiddled a knob. The man faded from view and she sighed, relieved, knowing he was on his way to one of the strongest intergalactic prisons in the universe. To her knowledge, she was the only person who'd ever broken out. Leaning against the wall behind her, it took her a moment to realise that she was being watched. Her hand flew to her gun and she whipped around to face the man.

"Hello Crowley."

"Hello darling, how are you?" Crowley stepped out of the shadows, arms still wrapped around the bundle of shimmering fabric.

"I'm alright. It's been a while," she was smiling but her tone was accusatory as she lowered her weapon, "What do you want demon?"

"Oh darling, when did we become so… informal?"

"When you left me in a room full of demons and no way out… without saying goodbye." Her face broke into a grin and she pulled some lipstick out of her pocket, "Although, as I recall, the time before that, it was me who left without so much as a word, so maybe we're even."

"I've kissed a lot of people in my lifetime, but I must say that yours was the most interesting. I did wonder why you'd be kissing me in a room full of angry Leviathons, but I suppose I should thank you for helping me get that far before you bailed."

"Oh Crowley, I wasn't bailing, I was saving your life."

"How would that possibly – actually forget it, I need your help."

"No chance demon."

"Oh, sorry. WE need your help."

"Who's we?" River asked but she had a sneaking suspicion.

"Me, my boys, a famous fictional detective and your precious Doctor. Two of him, actually."

"The Doctor?" Interesting, she thought to herself, if the doctor was teaming up with Crowley, "Alright, where are they?"

Crowley held out his arm and she stepped forward and the two of them vanished from the alley, which seemed to take a breath of relief at their absence.

_**Manchester, UK, 12am, Present Day**_

Dean was getting worse and Sam couldn't do anything about it. Castiel could see the distress on the younger brother's face and he looked across to Sherlock and the two Doctors who were whispering in the corner. Watson was still standing with his gun pointed at the spluttering Moriarty, but the coughing was beginning to fade, replaced with an angry glow in the devil's black eyes. He began to back away.

"Um. Sherlock." He said softly, and Sherlock's eyes flicked over. He stood and grabbed Watson, pulling him back against the wall as Lucifer stood and laughed.

"Is that the best you've got? Your only weapon just became a crying, bleeding mess. Next time, send someone capable to do the job." He raised an eyebrow at them and then vanished.

"Argh, come on!" Dean growled and kicked a piece of table. Sam punched the air angrily and Cas sighed. Sherlock and Watson were standing in the corner, both looking slightly relieved that Lucifer hadn't at least attacked. Rose walked towards Dean with some blue towels in her hand that she'd gone to the TARDIS to collect. They began to realise that what had previously been an alleyway was now the remains of two buildings settling around them. Lucifer had destroyed everything just to get to them. He'd tried to pick them off one by one – first Clara, then Dean – but it hadn't worked, and Sherlock was now certain of what was going to happen next.

"Doctor."

"Yes?" The two Doctors asked.

"Who was that woman in the video feed?"

"What video feed?" Ten asked, but The Doctor's brain was in overdrive and he could already smell her perfume and see her incredible, gravity defying hair.

"River. River Song." He said quietly.

"Who?" Ten asked, because something about that name was buzzing in his head. He was sure he'd met her before. Maybe when he was travelling with Donna, "Wait, wasn't she in the library?"

"How do you know that?!" The Doctor asked, startled beyond belief.

"I… I don't know." Ten blinked. He could see Donna clearly, but he didn't know why he couldn't see what had happened to Rose. Why had he stopped travelling with her?

"It's the rift." The Doctor decided, "It's got to be. The rift is recognizes us as a singular being, so it's pushing us together, because we're an anomaly."

"That makes sense." Ten nodded.

"Uh, not to me mate." Rose remarked and everyone else looked just as lost. So the Doctor's did the only thing that would make them understand. They pulled themselves up to their full heights, looked at each other and said in unison;

"Timey wimey stuff."

The group collectively rolled their eyes, secretly glad that the timelords hadn't gone into depth about the science of it.

"Are you always going to use that excuse?" A sultry voice echoed from the shadows and the Winchesters and Watson were immediately on the defensive, hands on their respective weapons, Dean gripping his gun despite the blood pouring through his fingers and it nearly slipping from his fingers.

"Yes I think I am." The Doctor grinned as Crowley and River Song emerged from what used to be a building. She put one leg up on a piece of wall and smiled conspiratorially at her husband.

"Hello sweetie."


	13. Pure?

_**Manchester, UK, 12am, Present Day**_

"Hello River." The Doctor murmured. She tweaked the corners of her lips in his direction.

"Where are we now then?" She was pulling out the blue book and The Doctor was already at her side, standing a little too close for innocence. Her spare hand was flicking through the pages of the book she held and he was hovering at her shoulder, eyes cast away from the book to avoid glimpsing his future.

"Jim the fish, the Silence, that beach planet, the date with Genghis Khan, dancing with Sinatra, moon jumping with Clara-"

"There! That was the last time I saw you."

"Oh yes, that was terribly fun wasn't it!" How is Clara anyway, still annoying?" River's tone was light but her eyes were hiding something. The Doctor swallowed and shook his head. River saw his expression and the look in her eyes cleared, "Oh. It's happened?"

"You knew this was going to happen?" Watson glared.

"I did." She answered, her eyes never leaving The Doctor, "I'm so sorry sweetie, I was hoping you were lying."

"Why would he lie about something like that?" Sam asked, curious.

"Rule one, handsome: The Doctor lies." River looked each and every person up and down until she arrived at Dean, "What's wrong with my favourite demon hunter?"

Dean glared at her, "Lady, we've never met before."

"You haven't met me yet sweetie, but I've met you a couple of times. You two," she gestured at Sam and his injured brother, "and Castiel. And of course Crowley and I go way back. All the way back to when he was Canton."

Sam found he couldn't help but snigger at the name again and Crowley bristled. Rose pursed her lips, "Sorry, but… who are you?"

"I'm River Song. I'm the Doctor's wife."

Ten and Rose looked at each other in alarm and everyone else stared in mixtures of shock and a myriad of other emotions at the woman.

"Yeah, but – why are you here?" Rose continued, trying to cover her surprise, all while shooting fervent glances at Ten, praying that he wasn't married yet.

"Crowley told me that The Doctor was in trouble, so I came to help. I do that sometimes, when the whim takes me, don't I sweetie?" Her eyes were fixed on Dean but her question was directed at the Doctor.

"Yes, _dear_." The Doctor's affectionate, joking tone was clear as he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and began scanning Crowley.

"Oi, what are you doing mate?" The demon growled.

"I want to know what it is that you're holding."

"Well why don't you do the polite thing and just ask?" Crowley muttered through his teeth.

The Doctor didn't respond, simply choosing to stare at the demon, who eventually sighed and placed the bundle carefully on the ground. He reached forward as though he wished to unwrap it, then decided against it and gestured.

"Whenever you're ready, feel free to take a look."

"No way Crowley, you pick it up." Sam was rightfully wary, but it had been a long day for Crowley and he snapped.

"If you don't want my help, bugger off you little shits! I went and got these for you, at great personal expense, and risk, and you ungrateful sods are accusing me of trying to… what exactly?"

"Shut up Crowley, just open the package." Sam said.

"I can't." Crowley let the words escape his lips, much as he didn't want to, and then sat down as far as possible away from the gleaming parcel, "As a demon, I can't touch the things in there. It has to be someone pure."

"_Pure _meaning?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, why don't you figure it out Moose? I know it means no demons, but I don't know how literal the translation is – maybe it's just demons, maybe you can only touch it if you've never sinned in your life. I can't say I've tried it before!" Crowley snarled at Sam and his stupid questions; he liked the kid, but sometimes Sam could really test his patience.

"Hey!" Dean's voice broke through the tense air, shattering the argument mid-thought before the two men could continue to verbally assault each other, "Could someone just open the package before I bleed out. I'd like to fight this battle at some-point before I die." He tried to lighten his tone, but the bleeding didn't seem to be slowing despite the fluffy towels pressed forcefully to his head. It was gushing from his ears and his nose had just started to drip a fluid that, for the first time in his life, he prayed was snot. He wiped his lip and when he pulled his hand away more blood had found its way onto it, so he assumed his nose was in the same predicament as his ears. He resigned himself to his eventual fate and looked up to see everyone staring at him. He rolled his eyes and looked around at all their faces, "Is anyone going to take a look? Because we all know I can't touch it."

Rose glanced at Ten but he was deep in thought, and everyone else was staring back at Dean, so she knelt down and pulled aside the glimmering sheet to reveal…

"A sword, and a funny looking ring?" She asked, to no-one in particular. Crowley scoffed but didn't say anything. Sherlock seemed intrigued but preoccupied. Castiel, however, strode forward,

"The Seal of Solomon!" He said reverently. Meanwhile, River had merely glanced at the items but she said quietly,

"And that's Gram, the sword Odin put in the tree."

Crowley nodded silently and removed himself from his perch, "Yes. Do you see why I couldn't touch them? The Seal of Solomon traps demons and Gram can only be wielded by someone pure of heart. I couldn't touch them if I wanted to, and I don't. But I thought we might need 'em."

"That's for sure." Watson said, "If we ever hope to beat Moriarty, or Lucifer, we need a lot more firepower than 4 guns, 2 daggers, timelords and Dean."

River looked at The Doctor who gave a microscopic shake of his head. She chose to completely ignore it, instead announcing loudly, "I have more."

"More what?" Castiel asked.

"More weapons. I stashed them where no-one would every think to look, but if you want arsenal, I've got everything we could possibly need. Anyone up for a trip?"

Dean stood, "Hell yes. Sam and I have a few things that might help too. But we need baby."

"Everyone back to the TARDIS. We need to visit Milliways." River proclaimed.

"Milliways?" Watson raised an eyebrow, "that's a fictional restaurant in a Douglas Adams book."

"You of all people should not be surprised when fictional things turn out to be real." Sam stated matter-of-factly.

"Fair enough," Watson conceded and River grinned like a Cheshire Cat.

"Alright everyone. It's time to visit the restaurant at the end of the universe."


	14. Restaurant at the End of the Universe

_**The Interior of the TARDIS, Time and Space in a state of Temporal Flux**_

The Doctor and River were darting and dancing around the console, harmoniously flicking switches and pressing buttons. As she went one way, he walked the other and she kissed him on the cheek as he passed. Sam and Watson were leaning against a railing, chatting about nothing in particular and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, although last anyone could recall he said he was going to find the library. Sam couldn't help but feel worried about Dean although he knew that Ten would do the best he could to help him, which was the only reason he'd followed The Doctor instead of staying with Dean – he was better utilised helping here. Ten's TARDIS was filled with a demon, and angel and a timelord, and while he didn't think that Watson, Sherlock and River were incapable, he knew more about demons than them, so if the group had to be split up, it was better that each half had a timelord and a demon hunter. At least, that's what he suspected Ten had said – it was a bit hard to keep up sometimes.

"Why do they all speak so fast?" The thought rose before he could stop it and Watson chuckled.

"You've got me mate."

"What?" Sam, unfamiliar with the expression.

Watson's eyes twinkled, "I'm just glad there's someone out there who knows what it's like to be around someone whose brain runs faster than their mouth and leaves everyone else behind."

"Yeah," Sam nodded and their conversation fell back to nothings.

"Alright Doctor, I've sent you the coordinates for the restaurant. See you there." River spoke into the monitor and she glimpsed Ten grinning before it turned off. The Doctor leaned across her to turn a dial and she found her fingers unconsciously resting on his arm. He glanced up at her, and though it lasted for a split second, she could feel the meaning in it. They never needed to talk to communicate and she could feel his pain weighing heavier on him than usual, maybe because it was so fresh in his mind. She ran her hand across his shoulder and into his hair.

"I'm sorry my love."

"I know." The Doctor said, "But it's my fault, if I'd just-"

"No, don't start. She knew the risks, she knew what she was getting into. It's not your fault my love, it's his, and we'll get him, I promise."

"But-"

"Ah, ah, ah," River tutted, "We have to mourn later. I'm sorry sweetie, but we don't have time right now. Defeat him, celebrate and then you can collapse in a heap. I'll be by your side the whole time, just hold on for a little while longer."

He looked at her and she nodded, turning back to the buttons. He wandered off towards the library to find Sherlock and neither of them exchanged a word with each other for the rest of the trip. Sam and Watson had observed the whole exchange, but to their untrained eye it seemed as though the pair were having a platonic conversation. What they didn't realise was that River Song and The Doctor had just expressed their love for each other as passionately as they could without saying the words aloud.

The TARDIS started to wheeze and the two men instinctively gripped the railings tighter, while River laughed and spun a knob.

"Sweetie, it's time for lunch." The woman called to her husband down the corridor.

"Lunch? It's 1am!" Sam started.

"Are you forgetting something? This is a time machine that is also travelling in space. Do you really think the end of the universe is living at the same hour as you? Manchester is in a different time zone to America – the end of the universe isn't even in the same decade as Earth – it's much further ahead. Try and keep up Sammy."

"Don't call me Sammy."

"Last time we spoke, you said I was allowed. You said that Dean was the only one who called you that usually, but because you couldn't stop me, you gave up and let me keep using it."

"Yeah, well…" Sam stuttered, "That hasn't happened for me yet, so don't call me Sammy."

"Sorry Sammy, but I'm afraid I can't do that." She smiled serenely and glanced over at The Doctor with Sherlock in tow, "Hurry up sweetie, we might miss the lunchtime discount."

"I always get a discount." The Doctor said.

"Of course you do sweetie." River sparkled at him and he smirked, crossing to the doors. He led them all out just outside what appeared to be… something.

"This looks like a library." Sam said, confused.

"That's because you're looking with your eyes." The Doctor said.

"Uh huh, and what else would I be looking with, if not my eyes?"

"Your brain, Sam, look with your brain. Look past the exterior windows and floors and the sign that clearly says library, and what do you see?"

"A library."

"It's empty." Watson piped up suddenly.

"Aha, Watson has hit the nail on the head. How did you know?"

"The windows are bending inwards, so I can kind of see inside and there's nothing in there; no floors, no shelves, no people. But if it's empty, why are we here?"

"Because it's not empty."

"But, you just said-" Sam protested.

"I did, but I was lying a bit. It's not really empty. Follow me."

Watson and Sam looked at each other apprehensively, but Sherlock and River were already striding behind the timelord as he disappeared through the front door.

"Welcome to Milliways: The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe! How many for seating?" The green alien wasn't human in appearance, most notable for its blob-like body and the fact that it was hovering three feet above the ground. It didn't have a face, so Sam found himself wondering how it was even speaking, and then decided against it. He probably didn't want to know anyway.

"Ten for seating." Crowley's voice sang from behind them and the rest of the group seemingly materialized around him as they were led to a table at the back of the restaurant.

"Your usual booth Doctor." The blob intoned.

"Thanks." The Doctor and Ten said, sharing a look of glee.

"God, I can't remember the last time I was here." Ten said.

"No, neither can I." The Doctor said.

"Well I don't know about you," River gestured at Ten and then spun to face The Doctor, "But you can't remember because you had three Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters even after they told you it's only safe to have two."

"And I'm still here, so I'd say I had a wonderful time."

"No sweetie. You didn't." River said softly, laughter in her eyes, and The Doctor sat up very quickly as though he'd just remembered something incredibly embarrassing.

"Yes, well, that was quite a while ago, and I'm not going to have three tonight – this is a business trip."

Everyone sat around the table in the booth and looked at their menus, but Dean was getting impatient. Ten had found a device that had managed to stop the bleeding but he had a sneaking suspicion the bleeding wouldn't fully stop until the First Blade was back in his possession. It was angry at him for using the Mark of Cain without its presence, and was slowly killing him until he found it again. He put his menu down on the table with a loud smack and looked at The Doctor.

"Why are we here, why are we getting lunch? Lucifer could be murdering people as we speak."

"Lucifer IS murdering people as we speak." The Doctor said.

"What?! So why are we here!?" Dean barked, his anger rising and the black pits of his eyes growing darker.

"He's also currently possessing Sam, and being trapped in the pit for all eternity, and plotting with Moriarty. Right now, you and Sam haven't even been born yet, but you're also long since dead."

Dean's eyes widened fractionally and he glanced around at everyone else who, thankfully, all looked just as confused as he felt. The Doctor noted their expressions and sighed.

"The Restaurant at the End of the Universe is a flux-point."

"What?" Sam asked the question they were all thinking.

"There are fixed points in time, yes? Things that must happen, things that have always and will always happen – fixed points. If something disrupts a fixed point," He stared pointedly at River, "the universe starts to unravel."

"Okay, but what does that have to do with this place?" Castiel asked.

"So, this is the opposite of a fixed point. A flux-point. Where everything is happening at once. They are much rarer than fixed points, because while fixed points are vital for the continuation of the universe, flux-points are incredibly rare and usually found deep within the heart of black holes. However, because this is right at the very edge of the universe, it is experiencing time all at once."

"People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but actually it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey… stuff." Ten trailed away, "Hang on, have I said that before?"

"No, but you will soon," The Doctor said, "anyway, the only other flux-point you're ever likely to come across is..?" the question hung in the air for barely half a second before Sherlock answered it.

"The TARDIS."

Suddenly it began to make sense, but just barely.

"This doesn't explain why we're here in the first place? Or why it looked like a library?" Sam said.

"It doesn't look like a library, it looks like a giant glittering starfish on a hunk of rock." Dean argued.

"Yes, I did take this lot through the scenic route, that's why we were a little late." Ten shrugged.

"Sam, the door to the restaurant looks like a library, but the whole of Milliways actually presents as a giant glittering starfish attached to the remains of a planet enclosed in a vast time bubble and set to the end of the universe. Timelords doing their very best work I must say." The Doctor said.

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times and rubbed his temples, trying to interpret what they were saying and convert it to understandable English. He failed miserably and sat back in the chair, menu in hand, reading the assortment of items, most of which made less sense than the insane explanations he'd just heard.

None of them had ordered anything, but ten plates flew across the bar and over some other diners towards them, settling themselves in front of each person.

"Lemme guess. We already ordered these?" Sam asked.

River smiled and nodded and everyone dug into their food. It had been so long since any of them had eaten, at least 16 hours, by Dean's count. It was hard to tell with all the time travel and action. They ate quickly and warily, but enjoyed every bite of the delicious, miscellaneous, brightly coloured, luminescent foods they were given. After every single person had taken their final bite, the plates glided back to the bar and disappeared. River stood and leaned into the middle of the circle of people. The circular wooden table had salt and pepper and… something purple… shakers in the centre and she yanked on the salt shaker. The table dropped to the floor and flipped upside down. The people stared down at ex-table, which was now an arsenal of artefacts and weaponry. The Doctor was not surprised, however, and simply grumbled to himself, "Now would be a really good time for a cup of tea."

The depository in the floor was filled with things so varied it would be impossible to know what half of them were but River knew what she was doing. She pulled the glittering package from behind her and unwrapped it, placing it next to the rest of the weapons.

River grabbed two large guns from the bottom of the last rack. "Alright folks. Take your pick."


End file.
